


It's not Greek if your knots don't touch

by Arabwel



Series: Arrangements and Affiliations [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Males, Alpha/Alpha, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Ancient treaties are a bitch, Blow Jobs, Dominance, M/M, Messy, Mild breath play, Oral Knotting, Oral Sex, Power Dynamics, Referenced chrisaac, rerefenced scisaac, world-building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-15 02:48:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4590189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arabwel/pseuds/Arabwel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Argent’s eyes darken. “I’ve put more than one alpha in their place, Hale.”</p>
<p>Peter’s eyes flash. “Prove it.” </p>
<p>****</p>
<p>Set during <i>to dwell in the place of the breed-heir</i>, Peter questions Chris' ability to keep Scott in line. Chris provides a demonstration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's not Greek if your knots don't touch

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Alt, Dena & Charlotte for the beta job! 
> 
> My PWE fic decided to spawn a verse. Here is a side-story, courtesy of Peter not staying the hell out of the fic

__

Hale smiles slowly. “That’s what I am here for, Argent.” 

***

Peter was always meant for this, always meant to facilitate, to wheedle and deal and negotiate - that is why he is the one who knows both the letter and the spirit of all the old treaties, the ancient ways, even the intricacies of the hunters’ precious code. 

Argent regards him closely, taking another sip of his drink. Peter had him pegged for a whiskey man and he was right, the gift of a bottle of solid, high-end Irish Whiskey the perfect choice. Argent might be more partial to Scotch, but part of this dance, part of the negotiations for fulfilling the treaty was to show that they had what it took to be formidable, to be taken seriously - and being able to provide something rarer than a top-shelf Johnnie Walker is just one small step. 

The negotiations are all the more complex due to the clusterfuck that is the Beacon Hills pack structure. He is just thankful that Scott has no bitten betas vying for his Alpha spark, to make matters worse. It’s complicated enough with the twins as hangers-on, and Derek’s wavering family loyalties. 

It is all very Victorian, really - or even more archaic. With Peter having regained his Alpha spark from Blake’s broken, bloody body, McCall and his ratag bunch of misfits are once again considered to be a cadet branch of Hale - leaving Peter in this position, to negotiate as the _paterfamilias_ with Argent. Such delicious, delicious irony, made even more poignant by Melissa McCall’s willingness to let Peter call on her for appearances’ sake.

He does wonder, if Scott understands the implications of his actions, or if he is simply unwilling to let them dictate his path, deeming protecting Isaac worth subjecting himself, not only to Argent but to Peter, as well. But that is the one fatal flaw in the brilliant boy’s character - the inability to consider the long-term consequences in favor of the immediate safety of his people. 

It is a good thing the man sitting across from him is just as ruthless as Peter is, in his own way, as he does not relish the idea of holding this conversation with _Gerard_ Argent. But Christopher has made himself the unquestionable head of his house and clan, especially now with sweet little Allison indisposed. 

The silence between them has gone on a fraction too long. Peter doesn't bother clearing his throat before he speaks,setting his glass aside with a soft clink. 

“The new moon is next week. Will you be bedding the boy immediately?”

Argent, _Chris_ shakes his head. “I’d rather wait until he is comfortable with me. Well, as comfortable as he ever will be, considering...” 

Peter nods. “He shouldn’t be due for a heat for another month, so you have some time to get him used to your bed.” 

Chris shakes his head. “Not gonna keep him in my bed.”

No, that would not do. “That is not acceptable, and you know it, _Christopher_. Or are you hoping Scott is going to mount the boy in your guest room, giving you a grievance to address?” 

“No!” Chris’ snarl would do a wolf proud. “They can sleep in - in Allison’s room. They will _dwell in the place of the breed-heir._ ” 

Peter is impressed, that Argent would quote the old treaties to the letter. “Acceptable,” 

He pushes on, unwilling to let either one of them to dwell on the specifics of the ancient wording. Well, early middle-ages, but barbaric nonetheless, the implication of just what would have been expected of Argent and his daughter before hunters became matriarchies through steel and blood. “You believe, then, that you can handle Scott? That he won’t do something no doubt courageous, yet utterly foolish for Isaac’s sake?” 

Argent bristles visibly. “I can keep the boy in line.”

“Can you? Can you really?” Peter leans forward in his chair. “That boy is an Alpha, not another beta lackey.” 

Argent’s eyes darken. “I’ve put more than one alpha in their place, Hale.”

Peter’s eyes flash. “Prove it.” 

The moment stretches a fraction too long, the air growing thick with anticipation. Peter knows he’s pushing too hard, too fast, but he has to make certain - and there are ways to do this, to have a proving. 

“On your knees, Hale.” 

_Oh._

***

Chris knows this is not exactly orthodox, but Hale, but _Pete_ r has been getting under his skin. And now, questioning Chris’ ability to keep another alpha, a seventeen year old boy, in line - the mere idea makes Chris grit his teeth, his eyes darkening with anger as he watches Peter’s eyebrows lift slowly. 

Even to his human senses, the air has changed; the scent of another alpha’s excitement has never been a sour smell to him, but now, his attention all on Hale’s - Peter’s, goddammit, because if he’s putting his dick in someone’s mouth, they’re gonna be on first name basis - there’s an almost sweet tang to it. It sends a frisson of heat down his spine, the tension flaring into interest and he’s startled to find out he’s more than half hard. 

He knows Peter is weighing the pros and cons,the potential implications - this doesn’t fall into the bounds of an agreement, but neither is it an egregious breach and Chris thinks the wolf won’t be able to back away from the challenge he’s initiated. 

Chris expects a sharp comment, another biting remark but, instead, Peter slides off the chair with inhuman grace, knees making the barest of sounds as they meet the hardwood floor. He crawls, he fucking _crawls_ towards Chris sinuously, bright blue eyes locked on to the hunter’s.

But this is not about Peter’s willingness to choke on a knot, this is about Chris’ ability to make him take it. With speed honed by decades of training, Chris’ hand shoots out to grab Peter by the hair and yank his head back, holding him in place. 

The wolf snarls, baring human-blunt teeth but doesn’t pull away. 

Slowly, Chris unbuttons his jeans and pulls his cock out. He’s not fully hard yet but he’s definitely getting there, especially with the way Peter's eyes focus on him, on the way he rubs his thumb over the slick head. 

“No hands,” he says gruffly as he tugs on the wolf’s hair, pulling him close enough to rub the tip of his dick over those plush lips,to leave behind a glossy trail of precome before Peter’s tongue snakes out to lick it off, tantalizingly close. 

Peter’s mouth is soft and slick and inhumanly hot as Chris presses the tip of his cock between those eager lips, so close to fangs that can rend flesh from bone in seconds. Peter moans, his eyes fluttering shut and fuck, it’s obscene, the way his cheeks hollow as he tries to get more of Chris’ dick in his mouth. 

“Fuck, you’re hungry for it,” Chris’ voice is rough even to his own ears. “So eager to get on your knees, get that pretty mouth on a cock. And not just any cock, either, no, you’re after _alpha_ cock. You want that knot.”

And it’s so cliched, straight out of a porno but fuck, it’s working. Peter’s moaning with every word and Chris is fully hard now, dick sliding in and out of the wet heat, the tip inching towards the back of Peter’s throat. 

It’s been so long since he had anything other than his own hand, even longer since he’s been with another alpha; the scent of their musk mingling in the air is intoxicating, hitting his fight or fuck response with every shallow inhale. It’s clear it’s working for Peter, too; the wolf’s eyes are burning bright, color high on his cheeks as Chris tightens his grip. 

“That’s it, take it all - _Fuck_! “ 

The feel of Peter’s throat constricting around the head of his dick has him swearing, clutching the wolf closer as his hips move of his own volition. He can feel his knot starting to come in, the tell-tale pressure at the base of his spine, base of his cock. 

“Gonna knot your mouth,” he pants, eyes locking with Peter’s flashing ones. “Gonna keep you hanging off my cock, Peter, gonna make sure you _know your place_.”

And oh, Peter leans forward, Chris can see his shoulders drop, can feel the wolf relaxing and _fuck fuck fuck_ the feel of his cock sliding all the way in, Peter’s mouth stretching lewdly against the base. He can’t help it, he reaches out to caress Peter’s face where they are joined, fingers slick with spit and precome as he runs them over the wolf’s distended cheek. 

Peter whines, high in his throat and the vibrations travel straight through Chris’ cock. He groans, hips nudging forward even though he’s buried to the hilt, heavy balls brushing against Peter’s perfectly trimmed goatee. 

“That’s it, _good boy_ ,” the words grate out through clenched teeth, tension ratcheting through his body. “ _Take it_. Take it all” 

Peter whimpers and there’s tears forming at the corners of his eyes and that’s what does it; Chris’ hips snap forward and growls, heat flooding through his body as his orgasm hits him hard and fast. He swells in the wolf’s mouth, feels the strong jaw flex under his hand, feels Peter fighting to stay still as Chris’ knot grows in his mouth and fills him with his seed, forcing the wolf to either swallow or choke. 

Peter swallows, throat and mouth working around Chris’ cock like he was born to it, like there’s nothing else that matters to him than taking knot, taking all of Chris in him. Chris tells him so, voice rough, the grip he has of Peter’s hair slowly easing until he can run his fingers through the no longer carefully styled strands, cradle Peter’s head in his hands as he thrusts minutely. 

Slowly, the rush of pleasure eases into an ebb and the sparks of pleasure on his skin die down to a pleasant hum. Still kneeling at his feet, Peter’s eyes have welled up with tears and he’s whining high, cheeks red and when Chris carefully starts to pull back, his slowly deflating knot popping free of Peter's slack mouth, the wolf gasps desperately for air. 

Chris hisses when the cool air hits his softening cock and he moves to cup it, then thinks better of it and uses his hold to drag the slick head across Peter’s cheek, wiping the mixture of come and spit on the werewolf's surprisingly soft skin. 

Peter looks like an utter wreck; the sight of him with his face red and wet, lips swollen and hair mussed is enough to make Chris’ dick twitch with interest even though he knows he’s not going to get it up again for another hour at least. The air is heavy with the scent of his come, mingling with Peter’s musk and sweat. 

Chris starts to tuck his cock back into his jeans when Peter stands up fluidly, as if he hadn’t just been kneeling on hardwood floor choking on another Alpha’s cock. He pulls up a handkerchief and starts wiping at his lips, dabbing almost daintily at the white streaking his cheek, but Chris can’t help but notice that behind his obscenely tight jeans Peter is still rock hard. 

He has half a mind to offer a hand, reach out and yank open the buttons and let Peter rut into his hand but before the idea can form, Peter has stepped back across the floor. 

Ignoring what has to be a painful erection, Peter sits down gracefully and picks up the glass of whiskey he’d set aside earlier. “That was sufficient, Argent,” he says, voice low and wrecked. “Now. Where were we?” 

Chris snorts, and picks up his own glass for a refill. “Sleeping arrangements. Now that that’s out of the way, I don’t have the room for _a steed with a harness in house colors._ I think a paint job for Scott’s bike would do.” 

Peter throws back his head and laughs.


End file.
